THE  FEAR  OF  GOD. 


) 


A.  SERMON : 

PREACHED  IN 

UNI  T  Y  C  II  U  II  C  H, 


C  Xi  I  C  A.  G-  O, 


ON  SUNDAY  MORNING,  NOVEMBER  9,  1 862. 


BY  ROBERT  COLLYER, 

IJ  S  X  O  R  TO  THE  CHURCH, 


PUBLISHED  JIT  SOME  WIIO  HEARD  IT. 


CHICAGO: 

TRIBUNE  BOOK  AND  JOB  STEAM  PRINTING  OFFICE,  NO.  51  CLARK  STREET. 

1862. 


'-4C,  ry\c.YyujSXj 


FEAR  GOD.” 


.  1st  Peter,  2nd  chapter,  17th  verse. 

I  want  to  say,  as  an  introduction  to  tliis  sermon, 
that  no  writer  or  speaker  in  the  Bible  begins  his 
revelation  by  trying,  first  of  all,  to  prove  that  there 
is  a  God.  In  no  part  of  the  Bible  is  such  proof 
ever  attempted.  These  men  appear  to  believe 
that  the  question  is  settled  in  some  other  way  than 
by  reasoning ;  or  they  feel  that  trying  to  prove 
the  being  of  God  is  a  lower  thing  than  that  which 
they  are  sent  to  do;  or  they  are  so  filled  with  a 
great  sense  of  his  presence,  that  they  do  not  believe 
it  possible  for  a  sensible  man  to  doubt  about  his 
being,  any  more  than  to  doubt  about  the  sunlight  on 
a  summer’s  day — living  in  a  focus  of  belief,  like 
that  man  who,  brought  before  the  parliament  of 
Tolouse,  on  the  charge  of  atheism,  lifted  a  straw 
from  the  ground  and  holding  it  up  before  his 
accusers,  said :  u  this  straw  compels  me  to  believe 
that  there  is  a  God.”  But  while  these  men  all 
-3  believe  that  there  is  a  God,  they  disagree  very 
d  widely  about  his  nature  and  character,  and  how  he 
is  related  to  man.  To  one  he  is  a  terror  and 
perplexity — to  another  a  supreme  love ;  to  one  a 
^ power  beyond  all  power — to  another  a  limited, 
J  struggling  principle  ;  to  one  a  grim  Eastern  despot, 
to  another  a  forgiving  father — his  face  beaming 


4 


with  love  to  this  man,  but  to  that  man,  black  with 
vindictive  vengeance.  A  great  deal  of  the 
trouble  that  men  come  to  m  trying  to  reconcile 
these  things  as  they  are  found  in  the  Bible,  lies 
in  their  utter  antagonism,  and  they  can  never  be 
reconciled  for  that  reason :  therefore,  we  can  only 
take  them  as  we  find  them,  and  test  them  by  the 
truth  itself.  I  intend  to  do  this  as  far 
as  I  am  able,  in  the  discussion  of  that  character 

of  God,  by  which  we  are  bidden  to  fear  him. 

I  think  there  are  some  thoughts  of  the  fear  of 
God,  that  we  may  well  ponder.  I  propose  to 
name  some  hurtful  and  some  useful  fears  of  God 
common  among  men  to-day,  and  to  point  out 
their  value  in  the  human  life. 

I.  There  is,  first  of  all,  a  fear  of  God  which  to 
me  appears  to  be  a  reproduction,  measure,  or  color 
of  the  national  life ;  different  as  the  nations  differ.  I 
believe  it  is  impossible  to  bring  a  Frenchman 
and  a  German,  or  a  Scotchman  and  an  Irishman, 
or  any  two  men  that  reach  back  into  a  radical 

difference  of  race,  to  regard  God  in  the  same  way. 

Indeed  we  see  this  difference  in  two  children  of 
the  same  family.  One  child  will  rebel  and  take 
the  penalty,  snap  his  fingers  and  do  it  again ;  while 
another  will  tremble  and  shrink  and  fear.  One  will  say 
prayers  and  brood  over  those  mysterious  promptings 
of  the  soul  that  seem  like  the  audible  whispers 
of  angels  to  some  children ;  while  another  will  appear 
to  be  shut  altogether  out  of  this  heaven,  reveling  in 
the  fresh  new  life  of  the  present  with  a  wealth  of 
enjoyment  past  all  telling — “of  the  earth,  earthy.” 
So  there  are  nations  that  are  lightsome,  careless, 
earthy,  objective ;  and  nations  that  are  deep,  stern, 


5 


solemn,  subjective  ;  and  the  national  nature  colors 
the  great  central  idea  of  God. 

Where  the  father  in  the  home  is  a  fear,  the 
God  above  is  a  fear.  Where  the  father  is  careless, 
light-hearted,  easily  bought  off,  blending  laughter 
and  tears,  smiles  and  frowns,  a  kiss  and  a  blow? 
there  the  Holy  Mother  can  turn  the  tides  of  fate, 
and  the  Friar  make  a  good  thing,  out  of  what  to 
a  deeper-hearted  people  is  the  dreadful,  steady, 
immaculate  justice.  The  Frenchman  who  could  not 
stay  to  morning  mass,  but  left  his  card  upon  the 
altar,  flashed  a  light  across  the  world  that  revealed 
the  real  texture  of  the  French  soul,  as  vividly  as 
you  shall  see  it,  if  you  watch  for  a  year  in  the 
church  of  the  Madeline,  in  Paris.  And  when  the 
Scotchman  went  away  from  the  kirk  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  to  hear  an  Episcopal  service,  in 
which  a  fine  organ  played  a  prominent  part,  and 
said,  as  he  came  away,  “  O,  it ’s  verra  bonnie,  but 
it’s  an  awfu’  way  of  spending  the  Sabbath,”  he 
touched  the  deep,  stern  Scottish  character,  that,  as 
some  one  has  said,  “  delights  to  praise  the 
Lord  by  singing  infinitely  out  of  tune  better  than 
it  could  be  touched  in  a  volume  of  disquisition. 

So,  friends,  in  a  broad  national  way  we  take  the 
thing  that  is  nearest  us  to  touch  the  infinite. 

The  glass  through  which  we  see  God  is  darkened 
by  our  own  breath.  Some  shadow  of  the  dark  or 
bright  we  cast  of  our  own  free  will.  But  more  than 
all  that — is  this  primitive,  mysterious  shadow  of 
the  race,  the  shadow  cast  by  blood,  and  climate, 
and  circumstance,  determining  for  all  men,  save,  it 
may  be,  one  in  a  thousand,  whether  their  Supreme 
shall  be  revealed  in  the  thunders  of  Sinai,  or  the 


G 


sorrows  of  Olivet,  or  the  glories  of  Zion — a  power 
that  waits  on  our  birth  to  take  us  up  and  mould  us, 
and  which  smiles  to  hear  us  say,  “  what  I  will  be  I 
will.”  For  as  you  may  find  the  Soldanella  Alpina 
piercing  through  the  snows  upon  the  lower  Alps, 
leaning  its  frail  purple  blossom  over  the  fearful  icy 
clefts,  and  the  Victoria  Regia  in  the  hot  lagoons  of 
the  South,  opening  her  vast  shining  petals  to  glisten 
in  the  sun,  but  never  the  great  Lily  on  the  mountain 
or  the  Blue  Bell  in  the  Lake ;  so  the  idea  of  God  is 
moulded  more  or  less  by  the  great  ranges  of  the 
race — the  intimate  life  blood  of  the  country  and  the 
providence. 

“  The  Ethiop’s  God  has  Ethiop’s  lips, 

Black  cheek  and  woolly  hair, 

And  the  Grecian  God  a  Grecian  face, 

As  keen-eyed,  cold  and  fair.” 

II.  But  in  our  own  nation  wdiere  so  many 
nativities  centre,  the  idea  of  God  and  the  consequent 
fear  of  God  differ  very  greatly.  And  I  have  thought 
that  it  might  be  of  use  to  you,  that  I  should 
note  some  forms  of  that  fear  as  it  exists  all  about 
us,  and  tell  you  wrhat  I  think  is  a  false  and 
degrading,  then  what  is  a  true  and  elevating 
fear  of  God,  for  us  here,  and  to-day. 

The  first  and  lowest  form  is  a  fear  of  God  as 
a  jailor  and  executioner,  who  stands  and  waits 
until  that  sure  detective,  Death,  shall  hunt  the 
criminal  down  and  bring  him  into  court ;  (where, 
by  the  way,  there  is  no  jury — a  thing  that  certainly 
would  not  be  omitted  if  these  Western  nations  had 
written  the  Bible),  and  where  really  without 
trial — for  his  condemnation  is  a  foregone  conclu¬ 
sion — he  is  turned  into  the  despair  and  torment 
of  the  lost.  This  is  the  low,  coarse,  hell-fire  fear. 


7 


Tlie  fear  described,  in  a  quotation  that  every 
preacher  of  this  school  can  repeat  to  you  more 
readily  than  he  can  repeat  the  beatitudes,  and  that 
is  sure  to  find  a  place  in  the  revival  season,  which 
indeed  would  be  incomplete  without  it.  The  writer 
is  describing  a  death  bed,  and  tells  you — 

“  In  that  dread  moment,  how  the  frantic  soul 
Raves  round  the  walls  of  her  clay  tenement, 

Runs  to  each  avenue,  and  shrieks  for  help, 

But  shrieks  in  vain  ! — how  wishfully  she  looks 
On  all  she’s  leaving,  now  no  longer  her’s  ! 

A  little  longer,  yet  a  little  longer, 

0  might  she  stay  to  wash  away  her  stains, 

And  fit  her  for  her  passage  ! 

Her  very  eyes  weep  blood,  and  every  groan 
She  heaves  is  big  with  horror !  but  the  foe, 

Like  a  staunch  murderer  steady  to  his  purpose, 

Pursues  her  close  through  every  lane  of  life, 

Nor  misses  once  the  track,  but  presses  on  ; 

Till,  forced  at  last  to  the  tremendous  verge, 

At  once  she  sinks  to  everlasting  ruin.” 


Now  if  you  can  bring  a  man  to  believe  this, 
and  to  believe  that  God  is  to  this  dreadful  penalty, 
what  the  soul  is  to  the  body,  what  the  burning 
is  to  the  fire,  the  very  life  of  the  eternal  torture ; 
replying,  never,  never,  never,  to  every  cry  out  of 
the  pit  of,  “  O,  when  will  this  agony  be  over,” 
then  you  have  a  fear  of  God  in  that  man,  beside 
which  the  fear  of  a  slave  toward  a  cruel  driver  is  a 
pleasant,  frisky  thing,  and  such  a  fear  when  it  strikes 
root  in  a  man  can  have  but  one  of  two  results- 
It  places  him  in  a  bitter,  hopeless,  blasphemous 
atheism,  such  as  you  often  find  in  isolated  com¬ 
munities  that  have  heard  only  these  dreadful  teachers, 
or  it  forces  him  into  a  slavish,  crouching,  abject 
submission,  where  every  free  and  noble  aspiration 


8 


is  lost  in  the  one  great  hunger  to  be  on  good 
terms  with  such  a  dreadful  master.  The  Pagan  on 
this  plane  of  belief  is  wiser  than  the  Christian. 
He  says  boldly  that  the  doer  of  this  is  the  evil 
spirit,  and  so  he  tries  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
him.  But  wherever  such  a  fear  has  a  real  place 
in  the  soul  of  man  or  woman,  African,  Indian  or 
Saxon,  in  that  soul  the  love  of  God,  or  even  a 
true  fear  of  God,  is  utterly  out  of  the  question. 
It  destroys  every  fair  blossom  of  the  soul,  it  leaves 
nothing  to  ripen — nothing  beautiful  even  to  live. 

III.  Then  to  the  eye  of  the  resolute  Christian 
hinker,  who  dare  not,  as  Coleridge  has  said,  u  love 
even  Christianity  better  than  the  truth,  lest  he 
shall  come  to  love  his  own  sect  better  than 
Christianity,  and  at  last  himself  better  than  all,” 
there  is  another  form  of  the  fear  of  God,  not  the 
best  by  far,  but  far  better  than  this  utterly  slavish 
fear.  I  mean  that  in  which  God  becomes  the  embodi¬ 
ment  of  pure  bargain,  exacting  from  us  to  the  uttermost 
penny,  or  the  uttermost  quivering  nerve,  whatever 
is  due — no  more,  no  less.  Here  God  appears 
writh  the  guards  and  sanctities  of  the  law  about 
him,  self-imposed  and  self-respected.  The  man  need 
not  contract  the  debt  if  it  does  not  please  him,  but  if 
he  does  contract  it,  he  must  pay,  or  another  must 
pay  for  him.  Then  the  son  of  the  great  creditor 
gives  his  own  body  to  the  knife,  and  bears  the 
intolerable  agony  instead  of  the  debtor.  Now  there 
is  a  touch  of  sublimity  in  this  conception.  I  do  not 
wonder  that  Paul,  standing  where  he  did,  should 
be  so  filled  with  enthusiasm  by  it,  and  should  run  alf 
over  the  world  to  tell  it  with  strong  crying  and  tears. 
To  Paul,  educated  in  the  belief  that  a  sacrifice  was 


9 


imperative,  this  was  a  wonderful  revelation.  The  awful 
debt  paid — paid  by  the  Son  in  the  gift  of  his  life !  And 
to-day  this  form  of  the  fear  of  God,  even  where  it 
makes  the  man  into  a  wretched,  shiftless  debtor 
and  God  into  a  stern  creditor,  yet  with  such  infinite 
deeps  of  tenderness  in  his  heart  that  be  will  give  his  own 
Son  for  us  all,  creates  a  far  nobler  issue  than  that 
in  which  Antonio  must  quiver  in  agony  forever,  if 
for  no  sin  of  his  own,  then  for  a  sin  contracted  by  his 
remotest  ancestor.  There  is  that  in  this  better  idea, 
which  has  carried  a  wonderful  weight  with  it, — such 
a  fear  has  its  own  touch  of  tender  reverence.  Con 
vince  a  man  that  this  is  true,  and  he  will  be  awe¬ 
stricken  and  inspired  to  some  fearful  love.  The  life 
and  death  that  hangs  on  such  conditions  must  be 
of  vast  importance,  and  a  God  at  once  so  relentless 
and  so  merciful  cannot  be  slighted. 

Yet  when  we  come  to  question  the  system,  it 
will  not  stand.  The  moment  you  open  the  idea 
with  the  master  key  of  the  Fatherhood  of  God, 
you  begin  to  see  that  it  cannot  be  true.  It  is  the 
father  punishing  the  brother  who  is  innocent,  for  the 
brother  who  is  guilty.  And  you  cannot  help  seeing 
that  however  willing  the  brother  may  be  to  bear,  it 
is  against  the  nature  of  true  greatness  in  the  father 
to  inflict  the  penalty.  It  is  no  more  right  to  do  so, 
than  it  was  right  to  punish  the  French  page  for  the 
fault  of  the  French  prince.  If  you  admit  the  princi. 
pie,  you  do  so  at  the  expense  of  the  clearest  ideas  of 
justice  that  are  found  in  your  own  soul,  and  that 
guide  you  in  every  other  decision.  Either  the  doctrine 
must  be  wrong  in  some  radical  way,  or  the  ideas 
that  are  right  in  everything  beside,  are  wrong  in  this. 
If  it  was  right  that  Christ  should  bear  your  sins  in 


10 


Ms  own  body  on  the  tree,  according  to  the  common 
interpretation  of  that  doctrine,  it  will  he  right  for  you 
to  punish  the  elder  child  in  your  home  the  next 
time  the  younger  breaks  into  some  mad  freak  of 
temper.  Besides,  this  doing  wrong  with  the  sure 
conviction  that  some  one  must  suffer  for  it,  and  then 
crouching  down  behind  another  while  he  bears  the 
blow — this  running  into  a  debt  that  you  are  sure 
another  will  have  to  pay — this  lying  on  the  shady 
side  of  the  barn  all  through  the  summer,  because 
you  know  you  can  beg  enough  corn  to  put  you 
through  the  winter,  from  the  man  who  toils  all  day 
in  the  hot  sun,  and  who  loves  you  so  well,  good 
merciful  man  that  he  is,  that  you  are  sure  he  will 
not  let  you  starve — does  not  appear  to  me  to  be 
the  best  way  to  promote  a  stout,  deep,  steady, 
personal  manliness.  If  you  take  the  principle  out 
of  the  realm  of  religious  ideas,  and  bring  it  into 
common  life ;  as  a  rule,  it  makes  a  man  small, 
tricky,  and  vicious.  Then  this  unlimited  promise 
to  pay,  creates  all  sorts  of  unfair  and  un¬ 

sound  debts.  When  the  common  run  of  men  believe 
that  they  can  have  all  they  ask  for,  they  are  not 
likely  to  be  particular  about  pennies.  Our  govern¬ 
ment  is  cheated  every  day  in  the  exact  ratio  of  the 
confidence  of  depraved  rogues  that  they  can  get 
their  claims  pulled  through,  and  the  better  tjie  man 
to  indorse  the  claim,  the  more  they  will  put  down. 
If  a  good  man  will  say  this  is  all  right  when  it  is 
all  wrong,  they  will  slide  in  another  cypher 
with  perfect  assurance.  Now  meet  this  doctrine 
of  vicarious  payment  fairly,  consider  it  as  if  you 
heard  it  for  the  first  time.  If  you  will  not  be  afraid 
of  polarized  words  and  ideas,  you  will  see  that  this 


11 


must  be  the  result  to  most  men  of  even  the  ad¬ 
vanced  doctrine — that  God  is  an  embodiment  of  justice 
or  bargain,  demanding  strict  payment,  but  willing  to 
accept  any  gold  if  it  be  gold.  It  breaks  up  the  inner 
fastnesses  of  the  man’s  soul,  by  pushing  his  ultimate 
responsibility  upon  another.  It  makes  God  fearful  not 
because  I  owe  him,  but  because  he  will  be  sure  to 
make  his  claim  good  somewhere.  It  makes  a  man 
false  in  the  precise  measure  of  his  own  essential  mean¬ 
ness.  So  that  it  was  perfectly  natural  for  that 
wretched  man  in  Philadelphia  to  plot  all  the  week 
how  to  cheat  his  bank  out  of  unlimited  thousands, 
and  then  on  the  Sunday  go  to  Girard  College  and 
snuffle  to  the  boys,  “now,  my  young  friends,  I  have 
come  here  to-day  to  try  if  I  can  save  one  soul,” 
because  saving  a  soul  and  standing  square  in  absolute 
personal  righteousness  is  by  such  doctrine  not  essentially 
the  same  thing.  In  a  word,  it  uncentres  a  man.  It 
lowers  lofty  standards  so  that  you  need  not  climb 
up  painfully  to  reach  them,  but  just  slide  along  on 
the  dead  level  and  you  are  there.  It  fills  the 
world  with  churches,  but  the  church  with  worldli¬ 
ness — the  result  is 

“  God  and  the  world  we  worship  both  together, 

Draw  not  our  laws  to  him,  but  his  to  ours, 

Untrue  to  both,  so  prosperous  in  neither, 

A  chilling  summer  bringing  barren  flowers.” 

“  So  then  we  must 

Unwise  in  our  distracted  interests  be ; 

Strangers  to  God  and  true  humanity.” 

“  Too  good  for  great  things,  and  too  great  for  good, 

Letting  I  dare  not  wait  upon  I  would.” 

IV.  But  a  far  higher  fear  of  God  is  to  fear  him 
as  we  fear  the  surgeon,  who  must  cut  out  some 
dreadful  gaugrene  in  order  to  save  the  life.  Such  a 


12 


fear  as  this  really  touches  the  outskirts  of  love — it  is 
love  and  fear  blended.  When  I  went  to  Fort 
Donelson  to  nurse  our  wounded  men,  it  was  my 
good  fortune  to  be  the  personal  attendant  of  a 
gentleman  whose  skill  as  a  surgeon  was  only  ecpialled 
by  the  wonderfully  deep  loving  tenderness  of  his  heart, 
as  it  thrilled  in  every  tone  of  his  voice  and  every  touch 
of  his  hand.*  And  it  all  comes  up  before  me  now, 
how  he  would  come  to  the  men,  fearfully  mangled 
as  they  were,  and  how  the  nerve  would  shrink  and 
creep,  and  how  with  a  wise,  hard,  steady  skill  he 
would  cut  to  save  life  ;  forcing  back  tears  of  pity  only 
that  he  might  keep  his  eye  clear  for  the  delicate 
duty;  speaking  low  words  of  cheer  in  tones 
heavy  with  tenderness ;  then  when  all  was  over, 
and  the  poor  fellows,  fainting  with  pain,  knew 
that  all  was  done  that  could  be  done,  and  done 
only  with  a  severity  whose  touch  was  love,  how  they 
would  look  after  the  man  as  he  went  away,  sending 
unspoken  benedictions  to  attend  him.  Now  a  fear  like 
this  is  almost  the  loftiest  fear  of  God  that  has  come 
to  the  human  soul.  Here  we  find  ourselves  among 
all  sorts  of  depravities.  Sins  that  are  as  certainly 
shattering  even  to  the  body  as  the  splint  of  a  shell  or 
a  rifie-bullet,  hit  thousands  of  our  fellows  on  every 
side.  They  hit  us.  We  can  all  count  some  friend  or 
kinsman,  who  has  been  killed  by  sin  as  surely  as  if 
he  had  been  shot  down,  and  it  may  be  not  one  of  us, 
can  look  back  from  the  stand  point  of  forty  years, 
and  say,  I  am  willing  to  take  the  unalterable  and 

*  Mv  position  as  nurse  for  this  gentleman,  Dr.  R.  L.  Rea,  of  this  city} 
gave  me  such  insight  as  inspired  this  poor  tribute  to  his  w<  rth  and  goodness, 
He  was  one  of  a  noble  band,  all  full  of  the  same  spirit.  I  am  glad  to  say  such 
words  of  them,  and  all  the  more  that  I  am  sure  they  never  expected  to  hear  them. 


13 


eternal  consequence  of  all  my  deeds  done  to  man  and 
woman,  ever  since  I  was  a  man.  And  this  conscious¬ 
ness  of  something  wrong  in  us,  this  sight  of  something 
wrong  about  us,  makes  havoc  of  the  peace  of  the 
soul;  we  feel  in  our  own  life  a  thread  of  the  com¬ 
mon  cancer. 

Again,  not  sin  only,  but  death  is  fearful  to 
many  of  us ;  we  shrink  from  the  touch  of  God,  as 
the  man  shrinks  from  the  surgeon’s  knife.  It  is 
doubtless  some  pain  to  enter  into  any  life,  and  that 
is  why  we  shrink  from  it.  It  must  be  some  pain  to 
the  worm  in  the  water,  to  strip  away  the  dear  old 
shell  in  which  it  has  lived  for  seventy  years,  (the 
seventy  years  of  a  worm,)  to  pierce  out  into  the  air 
and  spread  its  wings,  though  the  next  moment  it 
shall  exult  and  sing  as  it  floats  in  the  wonderful  new 
world,  with  the  rich  color,  and  the  sunshine,  and  the 
unbounded  gladness.  Now  there  is  this  intuition  of 
our  intimate  dependence  on  God  in  every  soul.  Are 
we  in  sin — God  must  help  us  out  of  it  finally,  in 
some  quick  painful  way,  as  the  surgeon  helps  the 
sufferer.  Our  suffering  appeals  at  once  to  his  pity,  his 
mercy  and  his  love.  Are  we  in  life,  through  him,  we 
must  brave  the  great  change  of  our  being,  and 
begin  to  live  again  in  some  wonderful  new  way.  So 
comes  this  fear  of  God — at  once  a  shrinking  and  a 
clinging,  inevitable  and  fearful.  And  this  is  about 
as  far  as  most  liberal  Christians  go  ;  they  accept  this 
life  as  a  mystery  of  trouble,  and  expect  that  God  who 
has  certainly  brought  them  into  it,  will  certainly  help 
them  through  it ;  so  with  a  touch  of  terror,  as  a 
woman  would  trust  herself  in  a  frail  boat  on  our 
lake  because  she  believed  in  the  captain,  though 
the  waters  were  turbulent  and  the  sky  dark,  we 


14 


trust  ourselves  to  God,  and  bear  the  peril  as  bravely 
as  we  can — not  always  quite  sure  that  we  shall  win 
through,  yet  as  the  life  deepens,  watching  with  ever 
fresh  trust  the  pilot  at  the  helm,  sure,  as  the  days 
wear  on,  that  the  master  knows  best  what  to  do, 
and  that  we  have  only  to  bear  the  burden,  meet  the 
inevitable  lot,  and  trust  to  the  end. 

V.  Then,  finally,  there  is  a  fear  of  God  which  is 
more  of  love  than  fear,  a  fear  that  has  no  torment.  There 
is  an  inspiration  by  which  our  duties  rise  up  before  us 
vested  in  a  nobleness  like  that  which  touches  the 
landscape  for  a  great  painter.  The  true  artist  works 
ever  with  a  touch  of  fear.  He  stands  at  his  task,  his 
heart  trembling  with  the  great  pulses  of  his  conception. 
Carefully,  fearfully,  as  if  his  soul  were  to  be  saved  by 
it,  (as  indeed  in  some  measure  it  will  be,)  he  tries  to 
bring  out  the  mystery  of  truth  and  beauty.  There  is 
a  deep  gladness  and  a  deep  fear  as,  line  by  line,  touch¬ 
ing  and  retouching  with  infinite  care,  he  perfects  at 
last  to  the  visible  sight  the  vision  of  beauty  that  was  in 
him.  And  he  is  fearful  exactly  as  he  sees  the  perfection 
of  the  thing  he  is  trying  to  embody.  A  dauber  has 
far  less  fear  than  Church,  when  he  paints  Niagara. 
Now  believe  me,  God  hides  some  ideal  in  everv  human 
soul.  At  some  time  in  our  life  we  feel  a  trembling, 
fearful  longing  to  do  some  good  thing.  Life  finds  its 
noblest  spring  of  excellence  in  this  hidden  impulse  to 
do  our  best.  There  is  a  time  when  we  are  not  content 
to  be  such  merchants,  or  doctors,  or  lawyers  as  we 
see  on  the  dead  level  or  below  it.  The  woman 
longs  to  glorify  her  womanhood  as  sister,  wife  or 
mother.  I  say,  in  the  heart  of  us  all,  there  is  this  higher 
thought  of  life  struggling  for  a  realization.  All 
at  some  time  cry, 61  not  that  I  have  already  attained  or 


15 


am  already  perfect,”  and  then  tlie  fierce  conflict  of 
life  begins.  The  tempter  tells  me  that  if  I  try 
to  be  an  ideal  merchant,  or  lawyer,  or  doctor,  I  shall 
go  under  ;  if  it  is  a  rule  to  mix  inferior  wheat  and  call 
it  No.  1 — to  pull  a  rogue  through  in  spite  of  justice, 
when  all  the  world  knows  he  is  a  rogue — to  keep 
a  patient  lingering  a  little  for  an  extra  fee — then  I 
must  do  it,  or  I  am  not  fit  for  this  world.  I  must 
go  where  the  wheat  is  all  pure  and  plump,  and  the 
judge  has  a  clean  calendar,  and  the  inhabitants 
never  say  I  am  sick.  If  the  woman  will  not  dress, 
and  dance  over  ground  enough  to  kill  her  if  she  had 
to  walk  it  doing  good,  in  order  to  secure  some  darling 
match  for  herself  or  daughter,  then  she  must  go  where 
there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage.  The 
young  man  must  see  life,  or  be  a  spoon.  Friends,  that 
is  the  devil — the  temptation  in  the  wilderness,  that 
every  soul  must  meet  and  faint  and  stagger  under,  in 
some  form  or  other.  But  here,  on  the  other  side,  is 
God — God  standing  silently  at  the  door  all  day  long — 
God  whispering  to  the  soul,  that  to  be  pure  and  true  is 
to  succeed  in  life,  and  whatever  we  get  short  of  that  will 
burn  up  like  stubble,  though  the  wdiole  world  try  to 
save  it.  Now  here  is  the  fear  of  God  that  is  loftiest 
of  all.  It  comes  to  youth  and  maiden  at  the  portals 
of  life,  to  make  them  beautiful  in  all  sweet  sunny 
humanities,  yet  to  keep  them  pure  as  the  angels. 
It  comes  to  the  wedded  man  and  wife  whose 
little  children  are  beginning  to  trouble  the  home,  just 
as  the  angel  troubled  the  waters  in  the  ancient  pool, 
that  the  home  may  be  a  fountain  of  healing  for  the 
hurts  and  bruises  of  the  world,  and  it  helps  them  to 
look  into  that  future  when  those  little  pattering  feet 
shall  tramp  strong  and  steady  in  the  ranks  of  life, 


16 


those  voices  breathe  out  comfort  and  inspiration  for 
fainting  souls,  and  those  hands,  now  so  restless  with 
electric  mischief,  grow  skillful  in  the  achievements  of 
the  age.  It  whispers  how  it  will  lead  you  and  help 
you  if  you  will  but  keep  your  soul  open  to  it;  how 
you  shall  be  able  to  bring  those  children  into  the  great 
ranks  of  God’s  holiest  and  best,  as  you  take  heed  to  that 
monitor.  It  comes  to  the  aged,  and  brings  sounds 
from  over  that  golden  sea  beyond  which  abides  their 
home.  It  tells  them  to  listen  to  no  tempter  that  would 
make  the  grave  the  end  of  all,  but  to  keep  an  open 
tremulous  ear  for  the  whispers  that  ever  come  from 
the  upper  'world  when  the  turmoil  of  life  is  over  and 
the  pilgrim  rests  for  a  season.  O,  friends,  it  is  to  every 
man  and  woman  the  still  small  voice,  whispering  what¬ 
ever  at  that  moment  we  must  hear  if  we  will  live.  Not 


shouting,  but  whispering ,  so  that  we  must  listen  with  a 
loving  fear  lest  we  miss  the  accent ;  not  repeating  louder 
for  our  heedlessness,  but  whispering,  so  that  we  must 
fear  lest  we  miss  the  word.  God  with  us,  not  as  an 
Eastern  despot,  or  a  stern  bargainer,  or  a  painful 
helper,  but  a  pleading  love.  Not  the  thunder,  beating 
in  terrific  reverberations  down  the  peaks  of  Sinai,  but 
that  gentle  voice  on  the  mount  of  the  beatitudes,  cry¬ 
ing,  u  Blessed  are  the  poor — blessed  are  the  meek — 
blessed  are  the  merciful — blessed  are  the  mourners — 
blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God.’ 


